


Happy Christmas

by Rainbowcat



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbowcat/pseuds/Rainbowcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Christmas holiday was rubbish.</p><p>Sirius hates going home for the holidays. Luckily, James Potter exists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Secret Santa gift for the lovely Enea. I hope it's not too late and I hope you like this little ficlet!

Sirius’s Christmases, in a word, blew.  
  
The Christmas holiday was rubbish. It wasn’t for the lack of a home or presents or anything. No, Sirius Black had both a home and gifts from his family, but it was the quality of both of these that was unsatisfying. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, was virtually uninhabitable, and the Christmas gifts he received from his darling kin ranged from the creepy (an old silver wristlet that gleamed dark violet in the light which Regulus had probably pulled from Borgin & Burkes directly) to the downright depressing (books with passive-aggressive titles such as _Mud in the Water: The Dirtying of Pureblood Lines Over the Years_ ). Spending time with a hateful family, having his head bitten off every time he so much as glanced up at the wrong time, hearing nonstop criticisms of his life choices, his Hogwarts house, his _friends_ : these defined Sirius’s holidays, and he had had more than enough.  
  
Good thing he could run away next year. Where to, he wasn’t sure. He would live on the streets if he had to, but he only had to pictures his friends’ horrified faces at this notion to dismiss it right away.  
  
His friends. A smile tugged at Sirius’s lips as he rolled over on the creaky bed and glanced up at the picture of the four of them – the Marauders, they called themselves – taped to his wall. Remus was the only one smiling and waving at the camera like a normal person, really. James and Sirius were engaged in some sort of playful fisticuffs, while Peter kept getting nudged out of the frame and fought his way back in. Right next to the photo was a card that Lily Evans, of all people, had sent with her little owl a few days ago. The card was hand-decorated: two dark horses pulling a sleigh trudged their way across it and snow fell gently on the pines surrounding them. Lily, ever thinking ahead, couldn’t have used magic to enchant the thing from her own Muggle home, meaning she had already prepared it before Hogwarts students departed for their winter break. The best part was the inside, though: the words “Happy Christmas, arse!” were printed in neat handwriting across the top. Lovely girl, that one.  
  
Well, Christmas day and no reason to stay in bed any longer than he already had. If so, his beast of a mother would start screeching at him, or worse, coming into his _room_ with its bright Gryffindor red-and-gold. Better to face the pack of wolves now.  
  
He had taken a mere step toward the door when he collided with something very firm, and, well, very invisible.  
  
“Bloody he-”  
  
“Will you shut it?”  
  
At this point in Sirius’s life, collisions with an invisible object immediately followed by that voice were all too familiar. So when James Potter’s head, wild-haired and grinning broadly, popped out of thin air mere inches from his face, Sirius had already gotten over his surprise.  
  
“Are you mad, James?” Sirius hissed, but he was powerless against the flood of giddiness that seized him just then.  
  
“Of course not. It’s Christmas! I had to come get you, didn’t I?” James kept his voice low enough, but Sirius was still nervous considering that he swore his mother moved on velvet feet sometimes. The idea of her bursting through the door and promptly jinxing the visible part of James to little pieces sped up his heartbeat a little.  
  
“Get me? You are mad! Get on, get home!” Sirius hissed.  
  
“That’s the plan, mate,” James said, grinning even wider. “But you’re coming with.”  
  
He wasn’t exactly sure how James had persuaded him, but without putting up too much argument Sirius found himself underneath the Invisibility Cloak with his best mate and in his own house, rucksack slung over his shoulder.  
  
“Mum’s going to kill me when I come back,” Sirius sighed under his breath, slinking down the creaky stairs and towards freedom.  
  
“She would kill you otherwise, so you might as well enjoy the holidays,” James amended.  
  
He had a fair point, so Sirius kept silent as they snuck their way downstairs. The door would be the tricky part – Sirius wondered in passing how James had gotten in to begin with, then realized he probably didn’t want to know about the hidden network of tunnels under his home – but James opened it with none of its usual squeaking.  
  
“Oiled it,” James explained in a whisper, shut the door behind them, and then they were free.  
  
The wind was icy outside but it didn’t seem to matter; Sirius was free, free of his suffocating home, and leaving, apparently, to go to the Potters’. On Christmas. He laughed into the winter air, half-twirling and taking a glance back at the footprints his invisible self had left in the snow.  
  
“So how, exactly, are we getting to your place?”  
  
“Knight Bus.” James bumped shoulders with Sirius; the excitement was infectious. “You’d think they wouldn’t go on Christmas, but the fare is even lower today. You’d be amazed at some of the folks on it, I swear. Oh, and wait till I give you your present! Remus and Peter have some for you too, they sent them to my place, though.”  
  
Sirius’s heart swelled a few sizes, there on the road outside of his house. Everything was going to be fine: James had rescued him from what would have been a miserable holiday, his friends cared about him, and he would deal with his parents after having his fill of Christmas roast and good company at the Potters’. Maybe he’d tell his mother that he’d been up in the attic and one of those damned items had cursed him, then she’d be happy.  
  
The Christmas holiday, really, was quite alright.


End file.
